


Fig and Thyme and Chocolate Pear

by midnightair



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Alternative Universe - The Great British Bake Off, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 03:56:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15987116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightair/pseuds/midnightair
Summary: From the first time Pippa lays eyes on her, she knows Hecate is the one to beat. There’s something about the way she holds her body, straight backed and full of unnecessary tension, about the way her dark eyes always seem to know more than anyone else that speaks of a worthy adversary.//A Great British Bake Off AU





	Fig and Thyme and Chocolate Pear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SallySalisbury](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SallySalisbury/gifts).



> You know when some dumb thought gets lodged in your brain and won't leave you alone? Well, here's the result. It's not as fluffy and light as you'd probably expect a GBBO AU to be, and it doesn't include much detail on the actual bakes because I am lazy to the core. I also avoided naming particular names or writing much about the judges because I definitely don't want to wade into RPF territory.
> 
> If you're into the AU concept PLEASE I beg you, use it and run with it, this is just one humble attempt.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated but please don't hold me accountable for any sort of behind the scenes Bake Off accuracy, I lay no claim to that whatsoever.

From the first time Pippa lays eyes on her, she knows Hecate is the one to beat. There’s something about the way she holds her body, straight backed and full of unnecessary tension, about the way her dark eyes always seem to know more than anyone else that speaks of a worthy adversary. Though there is little time to watch, Pippa notes how Hecate reacts shyly to the interviews, how she keeps herself apart; but she also notes that her work station is always the neatest, and that Hecate somehow manages to straighten out everything while waiting for her bakes to finish - despite the fact that there are people employed to do that job for her. 

 

It doesn’t surprise Pippa in the least when she herself lands one spot behind Hecate in their very first technical: it marks the beginning of a pattern that snakes itself through the coming weeks like a red line.

 

Of course, Hecate is only human: she doesn’t take home star baker  _ every  _ week (though Pippa sometimes wonders if the judges only offer it to her, or someone else, to keep things interesting), and she doesn’t always come first in the technical either. But she is always close to the top. Her faults, if there are any, lie with taste, not execution, and her timing is always startlingly on point. 

 

She’s never quite as daring as Pippa, or some of the other bakers, toeing the line of traditional baking with too much respect. There is no beetroot in her chocolate cake, no spicy ginger or exotic tonka beans. Pippa, on the other hand, loves to experiment: there’s nothing that brings her quite as much joy as splattering her home kitchen with dots of colour, with too much fruit and vibrant spices. Some ideas she gets from her own past travels (her one year spent in the French countryside is one of the more conventional trips, but one that serves her well in this competition - others include India and Northern Africa, Thailand and the Caribbean), others come to her in dreams - or so she likes to claim.

 

There is no doubt that Pippa enjoys her experiments but it’s not always what the judges want, not always suited to their very British taste buds. Some days, the enthusiasm takes her too far off course, or she gets sloppy trying to get her extravagant decorations done in time. She gets told off almost as often as she receives compliments, but as the weeks progress, Pippa holds her own, watching as the other contestants dwindle one by one.

 

Pippa wonders, on occasion, if Hecate has learned every recipe there is by heart, and only shakes off the idea due to the simple impossibility of the task. But even the hardest challenges seem only small hindrances to Hecate, and she bakes everything well. She wins bread week, of course, and no one is surprised - least of all Pippa, who has noted that Hecate never tries her beautiful sweet creations, but does nibble, sometimes, on more neutral and hearty bakes. 

 

When the filming is done on that particular episode, Pippa takes the chance and saunters over to Hecate’s station, plucking one of the beautiful breadsticks from their display and biting into it without asking. She loves the rosemary and salt mingling delicately on her tongue: a traditional combination, surely, but one Hecate has perfected without doubt. After the first bite, Pippa takes a moment to let the tastes unfold, and when she opens her eyes again, she finds Hecate staring at her with a strange expression. “They are delicious. A well deserved win, Hecate,” Pippa quips cheerfully, offering a brilliant smile to her fellow contestant, whose face remains dark and unreadable.

 

Though Hecate has warmed up by small degrees, not entirely immune to Pippa’s persistent pestering and charm, it’s clear that she has no interest in making friends. It’s a wonder that she’s here at all, participating in such a frivolity - but Pippa has not yet dared to ask the probing question of what lies behind the act. Instead, she fills the air between them with lighthanded chatter, discussing the bakes as much as the weather, commenting on the outrageous outfits of the judges, and laughing when Hecate points out that she, with her apparent preference for pink is hardly one to talk. In these brief moments of levity, Pippa watches Hecate’s face closely, delighting when she spots crinkles of amusement around her eyes, or a quirk of the lip. She has long decided that this is the far more interesting challenge here: not baking, but carefully niggling at Hecate’s prickly exterior to find what sweetness lies beneath. 

 

That much Pippa is certain of: there is sweetness in Hecate, though it may be an acquired taste. 

 

With one so clearly set apart, it’s no wonder that they’ve taken a hostile attitude to Hecate, who tends to loom in her corner of the tent like a dark cloud on a sunny day. But Pippa is her most sincere defender, cutting in whenever the comments grow too rude. She can tell that they don’t always pass over Hecate’s head, that her ears are well-trained in detecting sharp tongues. And even though Pippa often feels the urge to stand by Hecate’s side, arms linked, to weather the unkindness of others together, she feels quite acutely that Hecate would consider that a grave transgression, would close off again like a clam if Pippa even tried. So she does her best to show her loyalty in other ways, a rare smile here and there all the reward she needs.

 

However tempting it is, Pippa isn’t here to focus on Hecate, and reminds herself of that little fact periodically. But as the weeks go by, and as she learns more about Hecate - picking up facts like precious crumbs dropped not on purpose, but by accident - she finds her thoughts drawn to the other woman more as well. Finds her eyes wander over to Hecate’s workstation, where Pippa can see, even from across the room, the strong lines of her shoulders as they work kneading their dough; where she spots, on occasion, a strand of hair escaped from Hecate’s customary bun, curling against the nape of her neck in an act of defiance. And only recalls that there is a competition to be won when she remembers how quickly their fragile friendship could be over if Pippa had to leave. 

 

So she continues to work on her baking, spinning sugar around her cakes as she spins it around Hecate. She begins to dread parting ways, and though they still speak little of personal matters, Pippa finds herself reaching for Hecate’s hand, and linking their fingers once they’re all lined up to face judgement. Hecate only flinches the first time, and accepts Pippa’s grip with more ease when the next termination comes around. 

 

They have made it up to the quarter finale, and Pippa feels that she has made an awful blunder, coming in late on the technical and drawing more disappointment than compliments for her showstopper. Her heart beats more loudly in her chest than it ever has, and she squeezes Hecate’s fingers, icy despite the heat of the tent, feeling her own grow slick with sweat. This, she is quite certain, is the closest she’s ever been to getting eliminated, and she holds her breath for one endless minute before Ada’s name is called, and Pippa’s eyes fill with tears; because she is flooded with relief, but also because she’s genuinely fond of the older woman, who has been putting up a good fight. 

 

Instead of offering Ada a hug, Pippa flings her arms around Hecate’s neck without thinking, burying her nose in the dark fabric of her dress that quickly gets stained by her tears. She doesn’t notice how stiff Hecate turns in her embrace until she feels the tentative pressure of palms against her back: a hesitating return of the hug. “I thought I was leaving for sure,” Pippa confesses in a breathy whisper against Hecate’s neck, and Hecate murmurs “hardly” into Pippa’s hair, voice thick with emotion Pippa can’t quite manage to read in her one word response. 

 

Pippa wouldn’t mind at all to stay in Hecate’s arms, breathing in the scent of chocolate and flour that clings to the cotton of her dress and apron, marvelling at how well they fit together. But the moment passes almost as quickly as it had come about, and they break apart: Pippa to participate in the general commotion, Hecate to stand aside and watch the few remaining others talk amongst themselves and with the judges. 

 

In the end, the weekend always wraps up way too fast, and Pippa is on her way home before the details of the two days past have really had a chance to settle. She watches the rain start to sprinkle the windows and thinks of Hecate, and of the competition. There are only two more episodes to shoot, and Pippa isn’t sure whether she wants Hecate to win or just to  _ win _ ; either way, she sets her mind on the finale all the more firmly, intent on reaching that last peak, before she lets the fates decide.

 

There is a heightened atmosphere with four contestants left. The tent is hot, the chocolate melting off their bakes, and Pippa has no liberty to let her eyes wander during the semi-finale. When they take their seat on the high stools, waiting for the judges’ decision, she notes the absence of a distinct and darkly clad figure at her side - finds Hecate on the other end of the line-up, and wonders what’s wrong for a moment, before Dimity is announced star baker, and Julie is asked to leave. 

 

Though Pippa wouldn’t care to admit it, Hecate’s distance stings more than saying goodbye to Julie, and she spends the following week wondering what caused the rift between them.

 

It may be Hecate’s sudden change of heart towards her, or Pippa’s ambitious side kicking in at last, but she enters the tent the next weekend with her mind set on winning - an intention only strengthened by Hecate’s refusal to meet her eye. It makes Pippa feel indignant, itching to call out this odd behaviour; but instead, she uses the steam that’s building up in her chest to fuel her baking, smacking the strudel dough against the counter with more fervour than strictly necessary.

 

As it is most often the case, Pippa feels secure in her signature, having practiced and timed it at home, dreads the unknown factors of the technical, and worries that her showstopper might not be finished. While the pressure of the final, the focus on the small number of three bakers left, makes everything more stressful, and Pippa feels the uncomfortable prick of sweat on her skin before they even begin baking, she has decided to adopt some of Hecate’s methodical approach for this special occasion and works with more precision than she has before, taking a moment here and there to wipe clean her counter, making sure her ingredients are measured and laid out before she begins throwing them all into her stainless steel bowl to mix them together - and somehow it helps. The motions become automated, and it’s easier to work when there isn’t the usual chaos and clutter around her.

 

The final calls for all of them to go above and beyond what they’ve already done, and Pippa is pleased as pie to receive high praise for her strudel filled with fig and thyme and a dash of goat’s cheese sprinkled on top. She can’t help but watch Hecate, who has done something with pear and chocolate - an interesting choice for her when they had been free to make their bakes savoury or sweet - as the judges appraise the result. It gives Pippa pause, if only for a moment, to hear that it has not been baked to perfection, but was left in the oven a little too long, baking the top too dark and too crispy. 

 

This slight blunder is easily chalked up to nerves making an appearance at last in Hecate’s unflappable person, but then she also places last in the technical.

 

Pippa only catches a brief glimpse of Hecate, head bowed as she slips out of the tent and back to her car, and regrets letting another opportunity to talk pass by. Though she feels the endorphins of the day’s success in a heady rush, the thought of Hecate attaches itself like a small weight, enough to keep her mood from lifting up into complete elation. It worries her throughout the evening, and she ends up tossing and turning in bed, ultimately blaming the excitement of the day to come rather than Hecate. It’s the far easier explanation, and Pippa feels resentment growing out of her preoccupation that she would rather not indulge.

 

Tired as she is, Pippa appears in the tent with her usual smile gracing her face. In honour of the finale, her clothes are extra bright today, her ponytail extra perky. She holds onto the attitude she starts out faking until it settles by degrees into a more authentic feeling. Though she is aware of Hecate’s presence - always aware of the dark figure in the corner of her eye, like a spectre that’s started to haunt her - she applies herself to her showstopper with unusual discipline, rarely letting her attention stray from the dough, the oven, the decorations. 

 

Time slips by far too quickly, but in the end it pays off to be organized: Pippa has just placed the last candied flower on her three-tiered flourless creation when they run out of time, and she lets out a breath for what feels like the first time in the four hours and a half hours since the timer on this challenge started ticking. 

 

Lining up to have their cakes tested, Pippa feels her heart beating in her throat, sweat beads tickling down the length of her spine, and she’s quite certain she hasn’t felt this nervous since her A Level exams - or maybe not even then. The fact that there are cameras firmly trained on her - something she has always managed to blend out during the actual baking - only makes it worse, and she wonders just how flushed she will look on television. 

 

Almost instinctually, Pippa’s fingers twitch, aching for Hecate’s hand to curl around. Only then, she manages a look at her fellow contestant. Underneath the well-practiced façade of calm and cool, Pippa can see the muscles of Hecate’s neck straining, and there’s a sheen on her forehead which betrays some of the emotions she has always kept hidden. It’s unlike her, Pippa hears the judges say, to not get everything done in time, but her cakes do look rather messy. The harsh criticism makes stings Pippa almost as much as it must do Hecate, who only nods, and says little in response. But Pippa does not get the chance to contemplate just what has happened, as the judges move over to her cake next, congratulate her with jubilant smiles on a job well done, on texture and taste fulfilling all requirements.

 

After that there seems to be a constant buzzing commotion. While the judges consider their decision, the three remaining contestants are led outside to meet their friends and families - and it’s hard for Pippa not to notice that Hecate has very few guests. A pang in her chest, she approaches her despite Hecate’s pointed avoidance, and asks her to join her little group of cheerleaders. Hecate’s face turns wistful for the blink of an eye, gaze wandering to the table Pippa has pointed out - but she declines the offer with a clipped “no thank you,” and a brief shake of the head. She attempts to, at least, but Pippa, buoyed by the celebratory mood all around her, refuses to surrender to Hecate’s stubborn mind this time, takes her hand and tugs gently at it. 

 

“Come on, Hecate, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” Pippa teases with a smile nestled in the corners of her mouth. There are still so many things she wants to say to Hecate, to find out, chiefly, what happened to cause her retreat. Perhaps she should be less forgiving of such a slight, but the way Hecate’s hand fits into her grasp melts away the last remnants of her sprouting grudge: it reminds her, too, of the brief embrace they’ve shared, and of the unexpected comfort Pippa had found in Hecate’s arms. She holds her breath while Hecate resists, breathing out a sigh only when she relents.

 

There are bakes en masse, as one would expect, but while Pippa is eager to try  _ everything _ \- particularly her own bakes - Hecate stands back without even the slightest temptation registering in her features. “You don’t want to taste any of this?” Pippa asks, incredulity lacing her words as she turns to look at Hecate over her shoulder. They’ve made it to the buffet, and Pippa looks curiously over the table. There’s still plenty left, which, really, is rather surprising considering the many guests that have gathered. But she is glad of it, and happily assembles her plate with a variety of bakes, shaking off Hecate’s warning against her creations with a shrug. “I’m not them,” she retorts with a nod towards the tent, “I don’t care if it’s over-baked.” Pippa remains undeterred, but Hecate is starting to look pained. It’s only that expression which makes Pippa ask, at last, “what was the matter today? Nerves?” The suggestion seems preposterous - after all, the stress of the competition has never gotten to Hecate before. And Hecate looks away in response, shakes her head no in such a subtle way that it’s almost imperceptible. 

 

It’s enough for Pippa, who watches Hecate with narrowed eyes, to grow determined to get to the bottom of this situation. Before she gets the chance, however, they are called back by the producers of the show, have their make-up retouched, the crumbs and flour dust brushed off their clothes. The flurry of activities resumes, and Pippa fears she has lost what may have been her one chance. But Pippa refuses to simply move on and forget: the thought is firmly lodged in her mind, to be turned over and examined from all angles.

 

And then - Pippa is declared the winner of this competition. 

 

It shouldn’t be a surprise after the weekend, but she still doesn’t expect it. The joy of the win registers on her face, and the cameras capture it beautifully. She accepts the flowers, the glass cake stand, the hugs from her fellow contestants (even Hecate offers an awkward embrace, though it feels nothing at all like the one they’ve previously shared), and is swiftly whisked off for interviews. Pippa is a gracious winner, and someone - everyone seems to agree - the public will gladly cheer for. She takes care to mention her lows, and to mention that today it was merely luck, rather than merit alone, which got her all the way through to the top. 

 

She does not mention Hecate by name; knows that the producers want joy and elation, with just a dash of humbleness from her rather than deference - so that is what she offers. Bright smiles, some tears sparkling in the corners of her eyes, and the producers are content.

 

When they eventually let her off the hook, it’s Hecate Pippa looks out for. Though she is still processing her win, she feels quite strongly that it was not well deserved by her; feels that there was something wrong, something deliberate about Hecate’s performance this weekend. It niggles at her throughout the remainder of the celebrations, lingering through cake and champagne, despite the fact that Hecate has withdrawn again, retreated back into some quiet corner, where Pippa ultimately finds her observing the crowd from afar.

 

“May I join you, Hecate?” Pippa does not await an answer fearing that it may well be no before she sits down on the bench next to her. Dimly, Pippa acknowledges that champagne bubbles always go to her head, that her inhibitions are even lower than they usually are, and that she should not do or say anything rash; but she shakes caution off her back, and looks straight at Hecate, eager to meet her eye - a wish that is granted only briefly.

 

“Will you tell me what happened this weekend?” Her voice sounds more adamant and pressing than Pippa has intended, and the way Hecate flinches is the response she deserves. But she also deserves an explanation, and will insist until Hecate offers one that makes sense. 

 

Hecate, of course, stays silent, intently avoiding Pippa’s probing gaze.

 

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” The suspicion has been there all along, but Pippa startles herself by saying it out loud. Really, nothing else makes any sense. If her estimations are correct, however, there is still the question of why Hecate would do such a thing. And yet, Hecate’s shoulders slump, and she still refuses to look at Pippa which is telling enough. “Why, Hecate?” Pippa reaches for the hands Hecate holds in her lap, as cold as ever, clasping them in a silent plea.

 

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and for a moment, time hangs suspended between the two of them. “You deserved to win,” Hecate speaks at last, her words quiet, but carefully pronounced. Pippa can see Hecate’s back straightening, her shoulders squaring, but she is not ready to relent quite yet. 

 

“We both know that isn’t true.”

 

At this, Hecate’s eyes flicker back to meet Pippa’s - briefly, but long enough for Pippa to see that her response has managed to strike a chord. Long enough for her to know that she was right to question today’s outcome. 

 

“You saw my bakes today, they weren’t good. I had a bad day.” Much as Hecate tries to convince, her words sound practiced, insincere, and Pippa tightens her grip on Hecate’s hands, wants Hecate to look at her again. When she does, the words tumble from Pippa’s lips before she can think about what she’s saying: “You did it on purpose.” 

 

It’s a thought that has been nibbling on the edges of her mind, Pippa realizes as soon as she hears her own voice; it’s a theory that makes sense, even if she doesn’t want it to. When Hecate looks up again to face her, Pippa knows she has hit a sore spot. The expression on Hecate’s face is open - vulnerable, even - for just a beat or two, and Pippa wonders if that’s all there is: that Hecate simply wanted her to win, and took a step back out of sheer unselfishness; but just as before, it doesn’t seem like the whole truth to Pippa, and she doesn’t quite know how to react. She has a number of questions on her mind, all leading back to  _ why? _ but her tongue suddenly sticks to the roof of her mouth as she turns the implications around in her mind, fearful of the consequences if it wasn’t actually Hecate’s choice. 

 

“Your win was well-deserved,” Hecate assures Pippa once more, the tone of her voice implying sharply that she is done talking about the matter; but it softens by just a hint before she adds: “You were a worthy adversary.” 

 

Regarding Pippa for a moment, speechless as she is, Hecate moves to rise from the bench, retrieving her hands from Pippa’s grasp in the process, to find that she is only half successful. One hand freed, Pippa holds on tightly to the other as she gets back on her feet as well.

 

“Hecate, wait!” The request is gentle, but it’s paired with a tug on Hecate’s hand that admits no refusal; so Hecate waits, as she is told, still half turned away from Pippa, who is forced to step around her stiffened body to come face to face with Hecate once more.

 

“ _ Thank you _ ,” Pippa tells her, raising her free hand to meet Hecate’s cheek - both preventing her from looking away, and seeking out the contact. Underneath Pippa’s touch, Hecate’s skin turns hot, and her eyelids flicker, seeking any other point of focus to no avail. She has no choice but to look into Pippa’s eyes, to accept the wave of emotion that seems to rush out from her. “You shouldn’t have, but thank you,” Pippa repeats, hoping to lend sincerity to her expression of gratitude. They stay like that for a while, time slowing down around them. Pippa becomes aware of Hecate’s breath hitching slightly every once in a while, and she feels the sudden pull - the temptation - to lean in to a kiss. But she’s also aware of the alcohol levels in her blood, and of the tension still coursing through Hecate’s body; of the way her dark eyes are wide and skittish. These are signs Pippa knows to read, even in her mildly intoxicated state. The desires surging upwards, lodging themselves hotly in her chest are not worth the risk. She cannot give in to her urges to watch Hecate run off like a frightened deer.

 

And yet, she cannot seem to break this moment either.

 

Not, that is, until Pippa makes the decision to lean in closer, to brush her lips against Hecate’s other cheek, chaste but lingering and ending in a wish breathed into the shell of her ear: 

 

“I hope we’ll meet again.”


End file.
